Page 4 of Close to Falling

The days pass by in a blur of pain and feeling everything. Tremors move through my body, as night sweats and too much anxiousness let me know my body is fighting and seems to be winning this chemical battle I have put it through. I sleep as much as my mind will let me, and on the tenth day here, I get out of bed and walk to the window. I feel better today, and I climb into the large windowsill and soak up the rays the sun is giving me. It warms my cool-to-the- touch skin, and I sigh at the comfort it brings. My door opens and in walks my caretaker.

“Good morning,” she says, smiling at the sight of me out of bed.

“Morning,” I reply, smelling the pancakes she has in her hand. My stomach growls, and for the first time in days, I actually have an appetite, but I’ll wait until she leaves.

“Your therapy begins today.”

“I’ll pass.” I watch her set my food down and straighten my bed. I don’t know why she feels the need to do that. It’s just going to get messed up again.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Maddie.” She’s tucking and smoothing while my teeth are working on yet another fingernail.

“I’m not ready to talk to a stranger about the shit in my head,” I tell her. She looks up at me and gives me a sympathetic smile. I wish she wouldn’t.

“Maddie, it’s all part of the healing process. You have to get this stuff out, or you won’t get any better.” I watch her walk toward me, and she leans her hip against the wall near the window I am seated in. “How are you feeling today?” she asks with narrowed eyes and a sincere tone.

“Better.”

“Good.” She nods and crosses her arms.

Is she gonna stay and chat?

I look down at another black shirt and see she has a small nametag on. She obviously likes black, and Grace is what the tag reads. I think I remember her telling me that.

My pancakes are getting cold.She reads my mind. “I’ll let you eat. Then take a shower. I’ll come get you for therapy,” she says, patting my leg before she starts to walk, and this time she asks me if I want my door left open.

“No,” I tell her. She nods and shuts it as she exits.

***

The pancakes were filling, and the shower has cleared my head. I brush a comb through my dark hair and attempt to blow-dry it before I decide to just throw it up. I climb into the windowsill again and stare out at the melting snow on the ground. Sunshine warms my face, and I still taste powdered sugar on my tongue from breakfast. My door clicks open again, and I see Grace with a high ponytail. This time her red-framed glasses are on her face.

“You ready?”

“I don’t have a choice, right?”

“Nope,” she says and shrugs as she holds open the door.

I sigh and jump down from the window. I slip my black flats on and grab my cardigan from my bed. Sliding one arm through before the other, I follow her out and cross my arms as we walk down the stretch of hallway, passing by open and closed doors. I hear a TV playing in the small social room and see people sitting out back with lit filters in their hands. When we walk outside, I squint from the sunshine and pull my sweater closer to my body. It’s cold out, but the air is refreshing, and I breathe in deep. We walk down the sidewalk until we come to another building. Grace opens the door and allows me to go inside first. I stop and wait for her to show me the way. We walk up to a brown door, and she knocks before the person on the other side tells her to come in.

A woman in a white T-shirt and dark jeans comes into view when Grace turns the door handle and pushes open the brown wood.

“Hello,” dark jeans says as we walk in.

“Dr. White,” Grace greets. “This is Maddie B. Callaway.”

“Hi, Maddie.”

“Hey,” I say, wringing my hands.

“Thanks, Grace. We should be good from here,” Dr. White says.

“Sure,” Grace replies and gives me her reassuring smile before she exits. I’m left standing awkwardly in the room while Dr. White takes a seat on the light cream chair.

“Please, Maddie, have a seat,” she says, smiling up at me. I walk over to the matching couch and feel how soft it is, as I place my hand on the arm and sit down.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to call me Ellie. I don’t care too much for Dr. White. It sounds like my father. Unlike him, I shave my mustache, and my hair is shorter. He is an old hippie.” She grins, and I realize she is trying to break the ice and make a joke. A small laugh expels from me, and it takes me a second to notice I’m grinning, too. “Ahh, you have a great smile,” Ellie says. “We will have to see it more often.”

I stop, though, and my eyes wander around her office. Comfortable is the best word to describe it. A throw blanket is behind her on the chair she sits in, and in time I learn she actually uses it because she is cold a lot. Her desk is a light rustic wood filled with pictures and papers. She introduces smiling faces of her nieces and nephews and her girlfriend of five years. She has a bookshelf that is packed with mystery novels and only one or two books about therapy. I also learn that she has read all of them, and she owns a small fortune in books at home. Her girlfriend, Samantha, doesn’t like to read and doesn’t understand her fetish, but Ellie says there is nothing like a good book to take you out of reality for a while. All of this I learn before she knows anything about me. I don’t speak much to her. I listen to her talk, and it gives my mind a break from my reality.

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